A Bangladeshi Iftar on the longest day of year

The atmosphere in the living room was a quiet bustling anticipation. The women were making round trips from kitchen to dining table, ferrying goodies.

Everyone said if you plan to be in Sharjah at 6.30pm for an Iftar, you'd better leave office (in Dubai) by 4.30pm latest! We'd been invited to the home of a couple who moved to the UAE from Khulna, Bangladesh, in 1988. There was a promise of a traditional Iftar: doi chira (flattened rice with yoghurt and coconut), pyazi (onion fritters), chhola and muri (spiced chickpeas with puffed rice), and even haleem (a thick stew of meat with pounded lentils and wheat).
Shaikh Abdul Karim, senior vice president and head of operations control of Sharjah Islamic Bank and his wife Zeenat Ahmed Leevi (who ought to be running a chain of restaurants), were our hosts. But before we got to meet them, two minor miracles were to unfold, which I have attributed to gods of the summer solstice - this was, after all, the longest day of the year.

Disregarding advice from regular Dubai-Sharjah commuters, I left Dubai only at 5.45pm, stricken at the prospect of having to text our fasting hosts saying sorry, but running late. That didn't happen, thankfully. As luck would have it, a good samaritan known to me offered a ride to Sharjah. The stars must have been aligned a little too neatly as the roads were clear! No unending, unmoving traffic! We were at the door of our hosts at 6.29pm, washed over by massive relief, and with enough time to be among them as they ended their fasts at 7.15pm.
Shaikh Karim met us at the door, and insisted there was no need to take off our shoes. We slipped them off in any case. There was another couple and their daughter who had come over for Iftar, close family friends of our hosts (also Bangladeshi).
The atmosphere in the living room was a quiet bustling anticipation. The women - Zeenat (host) and Tajeen (friend) were making round trips from kitchen to dining table, ferrying goodies. Plates were already set with dates, figs, almonds and pistachios on the side, and fritters of eggplant, onions and cauliflower taking centre stage. Glasses of sweet lemonade were poured. The TV was on - Channel 33, Sharjah emitting prayers. All eyes were on the mosque on TV, waiting for the call of the muezzin.
The men were in the living room, out of the way, talking shop. The wives were multi-taskers in sync. Made me think of how you can gauge the extent to which women rely on each other by how much access they're granted to each other's sanctums; the ease with which they weave in and out of each other's kitchens, for one. No formality or permissions needed, just another welcome helping hand. Tajeen Akhtar, in her lovely blue ikat print salwar kameez (bought in Bangladesh) made trips from kitchen to dining table with earthenware pots full of savouries and sweets, fried goodies, fruits and another half a dozen dishes. Zeenat obviously relied on her.

This was only the second time this Ramadan that Zeenat had made haleem (best I've eaten, ever). She says for two people it's a lot of effort, but when there are people over, she likes to go all out. This is a woman who, besides being a fantastic chef - maker of also crispy, warm, chicken patties, flakes of which scatter about your face! - is also something of an artist. She paints, she does embroidery, she's a gardener. "I'm interested in everything," is her summation. Some day she hopes to open a restaurant, "Since morning I was working" she says, admitting to feeling bad that she hadn't had the time to make roshogullas (sweet dumplings made of cottage cheese). When I asked her, 'make' as in make from scratch, Zeenat laughed, and said yes, she makes them from scratch! No canned syrupy stuff for her. She'd started the groundwork for the spread the previous evening; lentils soaked, dishes planned.
By 7.30pm, fast ended, dates eaten, everyone sitting around the table, Shaikh Karim insisting we eat more, the energy in the room was more relaxed. There was a small window in which Shaikh Karim chatted about how many more Iftar tents and parties there are now than back when they first moved to Dubai. A lot has changed, he said. Not so much his habit of leaving for the Taraweeh prayers, asking us to stay put for Suhour, and laughing when he said: then we can all sit around and chat till the morning.
nivriti@khaleejtimes.com

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